


he was pointing at the moon but i was looking at his hand

by wildwcrld



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:08:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29748198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwcrld/pseuds/wildwcrld
Summary: in which remus lupin spots a familiar black dog lurking underneath his window every night during harry's third year.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 90





	he was pointing at the moon but i was looking at his hand

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for my midterm for my harry potter class at uni. tik tok bullied me into posting it. as this was an assignment i had to turn in to my professor, it is not EXPLICITLY romantic, but you can get the vibes.

There were only two explanations for the strange sight that visited Remus Lupin just beyond his window every night—either he was hallucinating, or he was being haunted. Remus didn’t know which option he preferred. The first was more plausible—even though hauntings were very much a thing in the halls of Hogwarts, taking the form of halfway-beheaded spirits and bloodstained ghouls, he’d never seen a ghost take the form of an animal, especially not an animal he knew to be very much alive. He hoped he was hallucinating, then, that his muddled mind conjured up the image of a great black dog as just another trick, just another memory of the past coming back to prey on him night after night. Sometimes he swore he heard Voldemort’s shrill cackle as he lay in bed, attempting to drift off to sleep—and sometimes he swore he rolled over and caught a glimpse of James grinning at him through the dark, the same schoolboy smile he’d flash the three of them in their dormitory when he was up to no good. Those sorts of fragmented memories were no stranger to Remus; the dog was a new one, however.  
There was, of course, a third explanation, but it was one that Remus wanted to count out—that his old-friend-turned-mass-murderer Sirius Black was just enough of a fool to wander within the vicinity of Hogwarts.

True, no one else would recognize him, not in this form, for no one else alive but Remus Lupin knew that Black was an an animagus. And, perhaps, Sirius knew this, knew that, by standing just within view of the window of Remus’ quarters, he was bound to be noticed at some point, but wouldn’t arouse unwanted suspicion. But what did he _expect_ of Remus? Did he expect a happy reunion? For Remus to welcome him with open arms as if he hadn’t killed James and Lily? Sirius really was a fool if he expected anything other than to be met with a wand to the neck, or even a fist to the face in the old muggle way, and then to be promptly turned in at once.

It was as though he was being taunted. Night after night, he’d turned over and gone to sleep, and without fail the dog would be gone by morning. And then, inevitably, the black dog would return. No matter how much he tossed and turned, squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again in hopes the dog would finally disappear, still there it stood, unmoving, waiting. Almost expectant. As it loomed beyond his window, staring straight ahead as if aware Remus lurked within, Remus felt that same flash of anger he’d felt when he’d first learned that Black had busted out of Azkaban, that same simmering rage as when Ron claimed Black had broken into Gryffindor tower and then managed to escape yet again.

Something had to be done. Black couldn’t keep getting away with this, couldn’t keep dangling his presence just out of reach like Tantalus and the fruit, and then evading capture again and again. But could Remus bring himself to unleash the dementors on his old friend? After all he’d done—

Even after all he’d done…

Remus rose quickly from his bed, tossing the covers aside with a note of finality, having reached some conclusion in his mind. He didn’t stop to tug on the bunny slippers stationed at his bedside, rather resorting to pulling them on as he half-walked, half-stumbled to the door, grabbing his wand as he went. And the urgency of his stride didn’t slow then as he navigated carefully through Hogwarts’ darkened halls. It was a strange feeling still, not having to cower in the shadows or duck under James’ invisibility cloak with the Map as his guide whenever he roamed the castle past curfew. But he was a long way from those nights of sneaking around, feeling indestructible and infinite with his three best friends at his side, managing mischief in the dark—Remus knew that all too well. James and Peter were dead, and his only remaining friend was a mass murderer.

The thought spurred him onwards faster than before. Spite carried him all the way through the castle doors and through the grassy field surrounding Hogwarts. He squinted through the darkness, trying to make out the shape of the black dog, less visible while cloaked with night. And spite sprang him back into motion once more as he spotted it, crouching in its same-old spot—except, now, it faced him, as if it’d been waiting for him all along. _Of course it had._

“You!” A string of mumbled swear words proceeded this exclamation as he marched towards the dog with his wand at the ready. He pondered the moral implications of casting a spell on an animal—though he knew very well it wasn’t technically an animal—but what if someone saw? Old Remus Lupin, caught pointing his wand at a poor defenseless dog, everyone was right about him being too troubled to teach at Hogwarts, should have never let one of _his kind_ around children—  
Before he could get too close, the dog stood abruptly and broke into a sprint in the opposite direction. Remus froze. He spluttered in disbelief for several seconds before stalking after the dog as quickly as he could manage. His bunny slippers didn’t quite suffice as adequate footwear for running. “HEY!”

His cry didn’t stop the dog, however; it seemed to pick up speed instead, and Remus knew instinctively where it meant to lead him—to the Whomping Willow. Remus huffed in exasperation and broke into an awkward trot. It didn’t matter how much time he took to arrive there, he knew the dog would be waiting for him. This way, he had more time to think, more time to process his thoughts. It occurred to him that he was about to be alone with the most wanted man in the wizarding world, the man who had led to the deaths of two—no, three—of his best friends, and killed a handful of other innocents; It also occurred to him that, perhaps, he should be afraid. But he wasn’t. Rage—which he so carefully contained and buried deep within him during most of his waking hours—flared up inside of him, animalistic and fiery like never before. It scared him, whenever he felt this pulse of uncontrollable anger, the sort that made him want to scream his head off at the world and destroy something, whenever he felt like the wolfish half of him had contaminated the bit of _humanness_ that was left behind.

And yet, he wanted to succumb to the flames of it, let it burn him up whole. Even if it hurt as much as the despair he was accustomed to—the despair that had haunted him for twelve years, knowing most of his friends were dead and the only living one left had betrayed them—at least its burning would keep him warm. At least it wouldn’t sit like a pit in his chest, weighing down heavily on his soul with an emptiness that made his entire being ache. No, anger was _good_ , he’d be doing James and Lily and Peter a disservice if he wasn’t angry. He couldn’t just cry over Sirius’ betrayal anymore.

The willow was motionless by the time Remus finally bounded over to it, meaning the dog had already slipped inside. Remus was ready for him. The second he crawled through the tunnel and made it into the Shrieking Shack, his wand had already taken aim, and the moment it found Sirius—no longer in dog form, but lurking in the shadows expectantly, his dark eyes cutting through the thick blackness of night like a knife—Remus thought _incarcerous_ and binds erupted from the tip of his wand, raveling around Sirius. Sirius didn’t so much as squirm.

“Hello, Moony.” Sirius’ voice was calm, so calm it made the all-consuming rage fire up in Remus once more.

“’Hello?!’” Remus exploded. “Effing _‘hello?!’_ That’s _all_ you’ve got to say for yourself?” He advanced on Sirius, his wand still pointing directly at the bound man against the wall, though it now quivered as his hand shook—not from fear, no, not from fear at all.

“Hoping I’d compliment your bunny slippers, were you?”

Remus could have hit him right then. Instead, he dug the wand point into Sirius’ chest. “I ought to—”

“Do it, then.”

“Ought to use the cruciatus curse on you right here and now,” Remus continued through gritted teeth, acting as though Sirius hadn’t interjected at all, ignoring the way his unyielding eyes bore into his. They lacked the same intensity they used to behold—no longer containing the same glimmer of mischief or lazy charm, something absent dwelled within them, now, something had eroded away over the past twelve years. He supposed betraying everyone you claimed to love and taking innocent lives would do that to a person, let alone rotting away in prison while your soul slowly gets chipped away bit by bit. He always found it hard to look Sirius in the eye, even more so now, for different reasons. “Make you feel some semblance of pain you have put me through everyday for the last twelve years. Make you hurt, like James and Lily did when Voldemort got to them, like Peter—”

But Remus wouldn’t do that, he couldn’t bring himself to—even after all he’d done he could never bring himself to hurt Sirius like that—and Sirius knew it, too, and Remus could _tell_ he knew it right then, with the dubious air with which Sirius was eying him. It wasn’t smug—no, Sirius was probably too much of an empty shell of a man at this point to ever feel smug again—but this infuriated Remus, who withdrew as if he had been singed by a flame. He stomped away, his limbs flailing about as if there was a puppeteer controlling him, just a marionette to his own fury as he paced back and forth about the cramped room. He’d never been the one to let his worst emotions control him, never been the one to take up space; no, he wanted to shrink out of sight, to disappear, that’s what happened when you had to justify your mere existence in the world at all. But he was done burying it all deep down, locking it all up and tossing away the key. Muttered words rolled past his lips in a continuous stream of hate and anger, bitterness and resentment, sadness and sorrow. “Ought to—turn you in—dementors—what you deserve…” He kept going on and on, grabbing at fistfuls of his greying hair, looking like an absolute madman but not having half a mind to care in front of an escaped Azkaban prisoner.

“Moony—”

“What are you doing here?” Remus snapped suddenly, halting in his tracks and turning on Sirius, wand pointing once more. “ _Why_ in Merlin’s name are you sitting under my window night after night? You trying to—”

“Lupin—”

“—get me alone so you can kill me, just like you killed them? Need to finish the job? Haven’t killed enough of your friends, have you?”

_“Remus.”_

The sound of his name alone finally brought Remus to a halt. He looked at Sirius, really looked at him, and he was frightened by the hollowness of the man that gazed back at him, the ratted hair and sunken eyes, the pallor of his skin. A far cry from the handsome boy he’d been in their Hogwarts days, when Remus envied the _abundance_ of him, how he could be so loud and energetic and brilliant, how he could take up space without feeling a drop of guilt, how he lived without shame… _Come back,_ Remus pleaded, _come back to me_ , but that boy was dead and gone, buried next to the bodies of their friends, and Sirius had quite literally dug the graves himself.

Remus had to tear his eyes away. He tried to swallow down the lump in his throat to no avail. He opened his mouth to speak, not even knowing what he might say, but Sirius stopped him from making the slightest attempt.

“I didn’t kill them.”

“I—what?” Remus’ mouth hung agape.

“I didn’t kill them,” Sirius repeated, his tone a lot gentler than it’d been before, and there was a hint of desperation in it, like he _needed_ Remus to believe him. (And, well, Remus presumed he did, because the alternative was being turned in.)

Remus stared. Did he really expect him to _believe_ him? Just like that? His disbelief must have been written all over his face, because Sirius pressed onwards before Remus could protest: “I didn’t kill the muggles, nor Peter, and I didn’t betray James and Lily—well, I did a bit, but—”

“And you expect me to _believe_ you?” Remus voiced aloud, folding his arms over his chest in defiance.

“ _Remus,_ ” Sirius pleaded again, and Remus hated it, hated how he could pack so much meaning into two syllables, how he could put so much feeling in there, in a name he didn’t have a right to say at all because he’d forfeited the right to it—to him—long ago. “I didn’t, I—I didn’t even have a trial, Remus, I have never gotten a chance to plead my case, to tell _my_ side… Please, just listen, I know _you_ would listen…”

Remus couldn’t even protest. Sirius was right about him, as always. Always being too forgiving, too understanding, always surrendering against the slightest bit of resistance. He set his jaw, thinking hard. An idea came to him. “Are you,” he started slowly, finally training his gaze back on Sirius, whose eyes he could avoid no longer. “willing to testify under veritaserum? Just to me?”

Sirius looked relieved. “Yes,” he said emphatically. “Yes. Please.” He acted as though Remus was bestowing upon him a great act of mercy. Remus had to look away again to hide from the gratitude swimming in the pools of Sirius’ gaze.

“Alright. Stay here,” he ordered—as if Sirius had a choice, for he was still bound—and at this Sirius cracked a smile. Remus took it as his cue to duck his head and leave the Shrieking Shack.

Within ten minutes he returned with veritaserum, stolen from Snape’s office. He’d given Lupin the password so he could go pick up the wolfsbane potion each month in preparation for the full moon, and he almost felt bad for betraying the man’s kindness—but also not _too_ bad, because this was Snape he was talking about. Remus did not reserve a whole lot of sympathy for that man.

It was a relief to see Sirius was still there when Remus came back inside the Shrieking Shack, even though the former had no means of escape. Sirius’ eyebrows raised at the sight of the small glass vial Remus clutched in his hand.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Snape’s office,” he confessed guiltily. “No, stop grinning—” But Remus couldn’t resist a small smile himself. Their feelings towards _Snivellus_ —as Sirius had so affectionately called him—were one in the same. He approached Sirius, holding the bottle away from his body, careful not to spill it.

“Are you going to—” Sirius gave a wiggle of his head that was obviously meant to be a gesture in regards to the binds still wrapped around him, but Remus shook his head _no._

“Not until I’m sure you aren’t going to kill me.” Sirius opened his mouth in protest, then seemed to decide it wasn’t worth it. Knowing Sirius was incapable of hurting him didn’t stop Remus from shaking a bit as he drew close, the closest he’d ever been to him in so long. “Tilt your head back.”

Sirius obeyed. His lips parted as Remus raised the bottle to his mouth and tipped the liquid inside. Once three drops worth had slipped out, Remus pulled his hand back as quickly as he could, startled by the feeling of Sirius' skin brushing against his, as if unable to bear the slightest touch, the slightest bit of contact, with someone who—who _repulsed_ him so.

"What’s your name?”

“Sirius Orion Black the third.” His voice was flat, expressionless, the tone of someone who’d relinquished control of the part of their brain capable of coming up with lies. The question seemed to register fully, and Sirius shook his head. “Bloody hell, Remus, why would I lie about that?”

“Just a baseline question. See them start off interrogations like that in old muggle mystery films. Anyway…” he pondered for a moment. “Fifth year. Where did you _really_ go during our second trip to Hogsmeade? Because I _know_ you weren’t really at Madam Puttifoot’s Tea Shop with—“

“I was at Zonko’s,” Sirius answered in that same monotone voice. “James and I thought you were getting a bit of a bighead, you know, with that prefect badge and all—we were planning a little mutiny, just to knock you down a peg.” Only after he finished speaking did he muster up a guilty expression. “Why did you have to ask that?”

“Making sure the potion was working,” Remus countered, though he felt a little burst of satisfaction after finally hearing the truth about something Sirius had hidden for almost two decades. It didn’t matter anymore, especially not when he was trying to find out whether or not Sirius had actually been a ruthless killer—but it mattered a little bit to him. He tried to wrestle back a look of smugness as he centered on the more important subjects at hand. “Alright. Did you, Sirius Orion Black the third, murder those muggles and Peter, and did you betray James and Lily?”

“No.” The word came so automatically that Remus’ heart soared. Could it actually be true, then? Could Sirius have been wrongly accused? Could he be _innocent_?

"You really mean it?”

“I did not kill them.” He turned his head to stare straight at Remus, those intense eyes boring into his. “Nor did I betray my duty as the Potters’ secret-keeper. I—” he trailed off. “Remus. I want to tell you the last of it, though I fear you aren’t ready for the truth, not now. You will think I am mad, and you would have every right to, because as of now I have no proof beyond my own suspicions.” He gave him a look that asked if that was enough for Remus, and it was, because twelve years was too long to spend hating someone so dear to him, and the knowledge that their blood really was not on Sirius’ hands felt so freeing he could weep tears of relief.

Remus fell silent for a moment. “Relashio,” he whispered, pointing his wand at the binds around Sirius, which severed at his command. And the next instant they were embracing, their arms fitted around each other. It was as if twelve grueling years didn’t stand between them, as if they were two _best friends_ again. It didn’t matter that the world was still against Sirius, that he had to hide. Remus would help him. He’d help him if it was the last thing he ever set his mind to. He’d fight tooth and nail to prove his innocence, to help him get back to a life of near-normalcy, because it was what he deserved. He leaned his head against Sirius’ too-prominent collarbone and sighed. He’d lowered some burden he’d been shouldering for far too long, and everything in him still ached, but at least now it was easier to breathe.

"So, what was that bit about the trip to Zonko’s?”

"Oh, shut it.”

After another long moment—as if they were both putting off the instant they had to separate for as long as possible—they retracted themselves from the embrace, staring at each other a tad awkwardly. Remus got the notion—with the absence of Sirius’ touch upon him—they were standing at opposite sides of a vast chasm still. But it was okay; they could learn to build a bridge across it. It would just take time. _Time._ He hoped they had more of it, an abundance of it, the time that James and Lily and Peter didn’t get.

"Well,” Sirius started, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “You should get back to—”

“Come stay with me,” Remus interjected. “In my quarters. No one comes to visit there, no one will find you. You can walk into the castle in dog-form, the dementors won’t pick up on you like that. You should have a proper roof over your head, Sirius, and proper food, too.”

It was his turn to be desperate and pleading. He feared he’d said too much, _been_ too much, when Sirius turned away from him, now facing the boarded-up window on the wall behind them.

"Yeah,” Sirius mumbled, and under the rays of moonlight still visible through the gaps between the wooden planks, Remus could see his eyes shining, and guessed that was why he turned away.

Remus said nothing. He didn’t want to have seen something Sirius had wanted to hide from him, so he fell into place beside him, pretending to be gazing out at the little fragmented pieces of sky they could see.

“Thank you,” Sirius said softly, and when the words melted into the continued silence between them—a silence of understanding, and a fragile sort of peace—he spoke again, gesturing towards the sky. “Almost the full moon.”

Remus said nothing, only nodded in response. Sirius was pointing at the moon but he was looking at his hand.


End file.
